Authors: Pamela Browning
He reached out in sympathy and touched her shoulder, wanting desperately to take her in his arms and comfort her in a way that would drive the bad memories from her mind.
She stared up at him, momentarily distracted. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide and shaded by richly fringed black lashes. She was perhaps the loveliest woman he had ever met, and achingly vulnerable.
"Oh, Juliana," he said, and he couldn't stop himself from inclining his head downward until their lips met in a kiss so soft and gentle that it might have been the wind brushing her lips and not a kiss at all.
And then she was gone, dodging through the tall grass, her ponytail bobbing behind her.
One thing was sure, Stephen thought regretfully. He could not allow himself to be distracted, to feel the desire that even now coursed through his veins as he watched her running in hasty retreat.
This was not the right time to become obsessed with Juliana Andrassy. He must remain a man of solitude.
Now and in the following months he must concentrate on the wire, on himself in relation to it, and on combining the talents of all the other Andrassys into one integrated act.
* * *
The cousins, minus Stephen and plus Nonna, were relaxing on the front porch after their first full day of practice.
"Ooh," Gabrielle said, closing her eyes. "I had no idea my shoulders were so tense."
"That's from all the texting you do with your friends," Michael said, winking at the others. "It's hard on a person."
Gabrielle poked him with her foot. "Somehow I have to keep in touch with my past life," she said. "Plus everyone's fabulously interested in my new one."
Julie, standing behind Gabrielle, ignored the byplay and massaged her cousin's tight muscles slowly.
"I'm next," Albert said. "Julie, you look like you know what you're doing."
"I've had lots of experience. I provide shoulder massages for my gymnastics students all the time."
"How did things go down in the meadow today?" Nonna asked. "I am expecting a report."
Claire's son, Sam, piped up. "You should see the way Stephen leaps onto the wire!"
"The man's a genius," Albert said. He was perched on the porch railing, drinking a glass of lemonade.
"I could learn just from watching him," contributed Eva.
Michael chuckled. "But watch him we're not allowed to do. We must work, work until we think we can't go on, and then work some more."
"Does that disturb you?" Eva asked.
"No. He's right." Albert took another chug of lemonade.
"Who is right?" Stephen asked. He appeared from the direction of the meadow, striding out of the darkness like a man with a mission.
"Oh, Stephen, you startled me," said Eva, who had almost jumped from her chair at his words. "We were just saying that you're right to make us work so hard."
The lamplight shining through the nearby window highlighted Stephen's biceps as he bounded up the porch stairs. Julie spared a moment to wonder if Stephen had ever been as passionate about a woman as he was about walking the wire. Then she decided she didn't really want to know.
Whenever Stephen arrived in a group, he immediately appropriated center stage. This time was no exception. "I have been checking the king poles. Albert will go up on them in the morning."
"In the morning!" Gabrielle sounded startled.
"Yes," Stephen said, unperturbed. "Albert has not forgotten any of what he learned so many years ago. Have you, Albert?"
"No," Albert admitted. "I tried for a long time to deny that part of me. Still, it comes back. Like riding a bicycle. You know, they say you never forget how."
"That is true," Stephen said. He watched Julie as she left Gabrielle and moved to stand behind Albert. Albert's shoulder muscles were taut; Julie massaged gently in her expert way.
Eva sighed. "It felt good on the wire today, Stephen," she said, tilting her head back and staring at the starry sky. "Like a homecoming of sorts."
"I'm glad you feel that way." Stephen leaned against the side of the house. The night was alive with the distant strain of crickets, and a full moon floated above the trees. He watched Julie as she kneaded Albert's shoulders. She was intent on her task, her upper lip tucked beneath her bottom one.
"Anyone want more lemonade?" Gabrielle asked, standing up.
Michael handed her his glass. "I thought you'd never offer."
"I thought you
would
."
Julie smiled at the easy camaraderie but sobered when she realized that she wasn't part of it. From now on, there would be jokes that she couldn't share with the others, experiences that bound them and not her.
She'd have to get used to it. She had her own life.
"I would like some lemonade too," Stephen said.
"I think I'll turn in," said Eva, who always required more sleep than anyone else.
"Me, too," said Albert, following her inside.
Gabrielle returned with two glasses of lemonade, then decided to join Claire, Nonna and Paul in front of the television set in the living room.
"How about massaging my neck?" Michael asked Julie. She took her place behind him, her small-breasted figure silhouetted against the moonlit porch column. Stephen resolutely turned his eyes away. It would not do to have sexual thoughts about Julie. Or perhaps he could have them but not act on them. He wasn't sure how this was going to play out, but he couldn't do anything that would compromise the troupe's chance at success.
"Stephen, do you think I could try getting up on the wire sometime?" This question was from Sam.
It was good to have this interruption. "If your parents don't mind."
"Paul said it was okay. Mom has her doubts, but I can make her see it my way."
"Sam, you won't be able to go on the wire during the day when the others are practicing because you'll be at work," Julie pointed out. "And you can't go up on the wire when no one is around. It wouldn't be safe."
"My job at the orchard will be over as soon as the peaches are harvested. That'll be about the first week in July."
Julie sighed in exasperation. It was bad enough to have to go on the high wire because you were an Andrassy. But Sam was Claire's son by her first marriage, and he had no need to uphold family tradition. The way Julie saw it, his leaning toward wire walking should under no circumstances be encouraged.
Michael set down his glass. "Thanks, Julie. I'd better go. It's time to read my kids their bedtime story." He stood, stretched, and hurried off in the direction of the mobile home.
"Guess I'll go see what's on TV," Sam said. He disappeared inside the house. This left Stephen and Julie facing each other from opposite corners of the porch, squared off like boxing opponents.
"So," Julie said bitterly when she was sure Sam couldn't hear. "You're recruiting a new generation to the wire."
Stephen brought the lemonade to his lips with a light tinkle of ice cubes against glass. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed a long draft. She inhaled a deep breath and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach.
"Sam asked about it. Of course, I will talk with Claire and Paul and find out if they object." Casually he set the glass down on a low table.
Julie walked to the end of the porch. Here the shadows were dense; the bright moonlight couldn't penetrate the thick ropes of wisteria climbing the porch columns. She cupped her elbows in the palms of her hands and shivered.
"You are not cold, are you, Juliana?" Stephen's rich voice was close behind her.
She shook her head.
"What is wrong then?"
At first she wasn't going to tell him. But then she thought,
why not?
He'd barged into her life and turned it inside out. He'd evoked emotions that she had not felt in years; he'd called up unhappy memories that were best left alone. Why should he not know the pain he caused? Why should he be allowed to think that he was as wonderful as all the other Andrassys told him he was?
Resentment, already deeply rooted, grew and blossomed into bitter words.
"
You
are what is wrong, Stephen."
"Juliana. How I wish that you would understand." His melodious voice was a smooth counterpoint to the jagged emotions in her heart.
"They're losing their fear," she said helplessly. "It was the only thing that kept them off the wire."
"So? It is good that they lose it. They cannot walk the wire in fear."
"Eva, for instance. For years she wouldn't even go into an elevator, do you know that? Well, she got over it. But to get her on the high wire! How did you do it, Stephen? What did you say, what did you promise?"
"Eva decided for herself. The others did, also. You know that." He wanted to touch her, to alleviate her abject misery. But now
he
was afraid. Afraid that Julie would not find it in her heart to forgive him for what he knew to be right.
"Do you know how I feel, Stephen, when I know you're all practicing on the high wire? Do you think I want to lose the rest of my family, too?" The words tore out of her, ripping at her heart.
"You must not worry. I have taken every care with the rigging. I am a professional, Juliana. Nothing will happen to any of us because we are very careful."
Julie's heart hammered in her chest. Dammed-up tears made her eyes ache; where could she go to cry? There was no privacy in this house for her grief.
Blindly she whirled and ran down the steps. She headed for the driveway, not sure where she was going but knowing that she needed to be alone.
Stephen wasn't about to let her isolate herself. Guilt overwhelmed him. Julie was angry, sad, upset—and all because of him. Somehow he had to set things right.
He caught up with her as she was fumbling with the latch on a chained gate that led to one of the old unused pastures. The moonlight made everything almost as clear as day.
"Go away!" she demanded, tearing a fingernail on the stubborn latch. It ripped close to the quick.
"Here, I will unlatch the chain if you will let go," Stephen said. He was so calm, so authoritative. With eyes glazed with tears, she stepped back. He didn't question where she was going, and she was glad of that because she didn't know.
"There," Stephen said. The gate pushed open with a swish against the high grass.
Uncertainly she passed through. She gripped her hurt finger tightly with the other hand.
"Now, where are we going?"
"I—I want to be alone."
He refused to acknowledge this. "We can walk this way," he said, gesturing toward a stand of trees. "There's a narrow brook there."
A soft wind soughed in the branches of the trees. Leaves rubbed together with a whispering sound, and little fruit bats swooped and dipped overhead. Something scurried through the tall grass, and Julie wondered what kind of night creature it was. Even though the moonlight illuminated the pasture well, Julie had to admit that she wouldn't have wanted to be alone. It was unfamiliar territory. She had been a fool to run off without so much as a flashlight.
When she didn't speak, Stephen said easily, "I have explored the farm when I was looking for the best place to set up the low practice wire and the king poles. The brook is very pretty, and I've always wanted to see it by moonlight."
Julie walked slightly slower than he did, a half-step behind. With a questioning smile on his face, he turned to her and slowed his step so that she walked beside him. His handsome features were silvered by the light of a moon as white as a magnolia blossom.
"Hear the brook?"
Julie nodded, still gripping her injured finger in her other hand. The lyrical sound of water rushing over rocks grew louder as they approached.
"Watch your step here," Stephen cautioned, gripping her elbow. The rocks, dampened by mist rising from the water, were indeed slick. Once Julie grabbed Stephen's hand.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she murmured. She wished she had never started this.
"Now," Stephen said when they stopped on the creek bank. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the rag with which he had wiped the wire that morning. "You may sit on this, so that your clothes will not get dirty from the rock." He spread the cloth out on a large flat rock and settled himself beside her.
The pearl-gray vapor rose from the stream, lending the moon-flooded creek bank a sense of unreality. Damp sand edged the rocks, and on the opposite bank, little saplings dipped low, looking like the acrobats of the tree family. Water purled softly at their feet, singing a song of bewitchery, of moon-haunting in the mist.
Julie put her finger with the torn fingernail in her mouth. She tasted blood.
Stephen saw the flicker of pain cross her face. "Is something wrong?" he asked quickly. "Have you hurt your finger?"
Julie inspected the fingernail. "I tore it when I was trying to get the gate open."
"Here, we will wash it with the water of the brook," Stephen said. He dampened his handkerchief and returned to her, lifting her hand gently as he dabbed at her fingernail.